Heart of Gold
by Ana Roth
Summary: In which we see Dorothy five years later. As ruler of Oz, she is presented with a troubling riddle she must solve. The prophecy of the fourth daughter threatens her power, and she seeks out the advice of her old friends. Only read if you're bored.
1. Chapter 1 Prophecy

Disclaimer: I've ripped off a lot for this story, so would like to acknowledge L. Frank Baum for writing "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" and all its companions from which I have borrowed information and inspiration, the writers and directors of the film "The Wizard of Oz", E.H. Harburg for writing the lyrics to "If I Only Had a Brain" and "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", Neil Young for "Heart of Gold", and Dante Alighieri for the quote on Pride [Chapter Seven]. I own nothing and surrender all my rights as a living breathing author.

Chapter One

Prophecy or In Which The Characters Receive A Warning

Dorothy woke with the sun shining on her face. She rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut, irritated. Her cheek brushed against soft, curly fur and she peered out from under her lashes at the figure lying beside her. He was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. His mane was spread out on the silk-covered pillow beneath his head and looked golden in the early morning sunlight and Dorothy's face was resting on a section of it.

She sat up. She suddenly felt the urge, like an incessant itch all over her body, to get out of the room. She got up and snatched the emerald silk robe that was pooled on the floor and wrapped it around her shoulders. The bedroom door opened silently and she slipped into the hall. The polished marble was cool beneath her bare feet as she walked, her robe billowing around her. In the bright morning light, her smooth skin was as pale as porcelain, showing no scars or signs of labor. Since the departure of the wizard, Dorothy hadn't worked a single day. In fact, she had barely lifted a finger. There were enough servants in the Emerald Palace; she didn't even have to feed herself if she didn't want to. Scarecrow took care of the politics, Tin Man worked the military, and Lion provided the entertainment. But she didn't want to bother with him now.

So her bedroom was presently occupied; that's what she had a second room for. Once the door was securely shut, she wandered to her dressing table and sat down, gazing at her reflection in the oval mirror. Her long chestnut curls were tousled and she ran a hand over her hair to smooth it. The deep emerald of the robe looked good against her fair skin and dark hair. She smiled at herself and her lips shone red in the morning light.

Later that afternoon, Dorothy was immersed in a thick layer of foam in her massive marble bath when there was a timid knock on the door.

"What?" she snapped.

A maid peered her head around the door, looking nervous.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss, but there's someone who would like to speak to you."

"Who is it?" Dorothy didn't like being disturbed, especially when she was in the bath.

"Sir Lion, Miss," replied the maid.

Dorothy rolled her eyes and settled back against the tub. "Let him in."

The maid ducked out and a moment later Lion entered. He surveyed the room haughtily and then smirked at Dorothy.

"Terribly sorry to disturb you."

"I'm sure," she said. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

"You left rather early this morning," he observed, leaning against the counter of the vanity.

"Did I?" said Dorothy.

Lion growled softly in response. "Not very polite to run out on your guests."

"You overstayed your welcome."

"You've never minded before," he said, his voice low and gravely in his throat.

Dorothy raised one of her legs from the soapy water and ran a sponge over it. She smirked as she saw Lion watching her. His tail twitched.

"Was there something you wanted?" she said, dropping the sponge into the water.

"I was going to give you a warning," he said. "But now I'm tempted to leave you to the wolves."

"Wolves, really?" said Dorothy. "Are they as bad as the Lions?"

"Worse," he replied. A lazy grin spread over his face.

"What was the warning?"

He didn't say anything for a few minutes. Dorothy was tempted to argue, or to get out of the bathtub and persuade him to tell her, but he spoke again before she could make up her mind.

"Tin Man was looking for you."

"And why is that?" said Dorothy, stretching out in the water.

"Surely there must be some thrilling military development that requires your immediate attention."

"Didn't he tell you what it was?"

Lion glared at her over the hand he had been examining.

"Oh that's right," she replied, keeping her voice low. "You didn't merit an invitation to the guard. What was that requirement that you were lacking? Bravery, I think it was."

He growled deeply in his chest and before Dorothy knew what was happening, he had strode across the room and leaned over her, one hand on either side of the bathtub.

"I wouldn't want to join your army of monkeys and machines even if you got down on your knees and begged me," he hissed, his face dangerously close to hers. She could feel his hot breath on her skin and noticed how much sharper his teeth were than hers.

"That's something you'll never have to worry about, _Lion,_" she whispered in reply, drawing out his name like a curse, like a thing rather than a name.

He growled again. "Don't fool yourself, Dorothy. Just because the Wizard vacated the post doesn't make you Great and Powerful anything." He stood up. "Your reign is a joke. Be grateful that your Munchkin subjects are too ignorant to know better."

He strode across the room and the door closed behind him with a loud click.

She didn't actively seek him out, but Tin Man found her eventually.

"Why don't you come for a walk with me through the palace?" he had said in his stern voice that always made Dorothy feel like she was a child being scolded. It didn't matter what superficial gifts the Wizard had bestowed upon him; Tin Man's chest was still nothing but an empty can.

But Dorothy went with him, only because she had nothing better to do and was bored with sitting around in her rooms, yelling at maids, and plotting her revenge on Lion. She met Tin Man in the main hall and he escorted her through the palace and out into the bright and busy courtyard.

The market was calmer than usual and a warm breeze wrapped around Dorothy's shoulders. It was late afternoon and most of the merchants had packed up their wares but a few still lingered in their stalls, peddling the last of their goods.

"Dorothy, it's been brought to the attention of the guard that there have been some border infractions in the north woods."

"Mm hmm," Dorothy replied.

"We can't be sure if they are rebels or terrorists, and we don't know what they want. They have made no demands."

Dorothy paused to examine a pewter mirror engraved with intricate roses. The Munchkin merchant smile eagerly over the table at her, but Dorothy put the mirror down without a word. She moved down the avenue, Tin Man at her elbow.

"Without further knowledge, we can't be sure the level of threat," said Tin Man, who had taken his eyes off of Dorothy to peer around the side of a stall. A small boy peered back at him with sparkling green eyes.

"Right," replied Dorothy, leaning around him to glimpse a stand of wind chimes.

"Look," said Tin Man, turning away from the boy, "I can't help but feel that you don't—" but he was cut off.

"Your Majesty!" cried an old Munchkin woman who had limped out of her stall to intercept Dorothy. She came up to Dorothy's waist and was draped in faded scarves and shawls. Her wrists glittered with a dozen metal bangles and her ears were heavy with metal hoops. Her wispy grey hair was tucked under a scarlet scarf tied over her head. She smiled up at Dorothy, her face a mass of leathery wrinkles.

"My lady, please, if you would grant me the honor of telling your fortune, it would be the greatest honor of my life!" The old woman dropped to her knees and lowered her face to Dorothy's red satin slippers.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Dorothy, taking a step back. "That's not necessary."

Tin Man motioned to the rank of guards that had been following them and they stepped forward to restrain the old woman.

"No," said Dorothy, holding up her hand. The old woman looked up at her, her eyes wide with surprise. "Tell me my fortune, Munchkin. I'm curious to know."

The old woman struggled to her feet, but slapped away his hand when Tin Man reached to help her. Then she held out a brown, wrinkled hand to Dorothy, her palm up in request.

Dorothy hesitantly extended her own hand to the woman, who took it and turned her palm to the sky. She examined it for several long moments, her brow creasing in concentration. Then the woman's head fell forward onto her chest, her eyes shut, her hand still firmly holding Dorothy's.

Dorothy glanced at Tin Man, annoyed. _The old woman had fallen asleep while telling her fortune_? She should have known better than to let the old crone touch her hands with her dirty stained ones.

Dorothy tried to pull her hand back, intending to have the guards escort the woman to a hay stack where she could sleep it off, but as she moved the old woman tightened her stubby fingers around Dorothy's wrist. Her head rolled back, facing the sky, and her eyes opened. They had rolled to the back of her head, showing only the whites. Her mouth fell open and words poured from her throat, deep and ominous despite her high-pitched voice.

"Beware the coming of the fourth sister, the rightful ruler, for she will make claim to the throne and depose all those who stand in her way. Her powers are beyond any others. Beware the coming of the fourth sister. False gods take fear."

The woman's head rolled forward again and her hand released Dorothy.

Dorothy stumbled backward and Tin Man reached out an arm to steady her. She flinched away from him, her face hardening as she looked down on the old woman, who was swaying on her feet, with disgust.

"Get her away from me," she said.

Two guards hurried forward and grasped the woman, one on each arm, and led her away.

"Dorothy," said the Tin Man, moving once more to her side. She pulled away again.

"Don't touch me," she hissed. She turned from him and strode down the avenue of stalls, leaving a wake of curious Munchkins behind her.

As far as grey matter went, everything the Wizard had went to Scarecrow. Tin Man felt a pull somewhere in him, somewhere near his heart he would have thought, if he hadn't know better. Ignoring her demands, he followed Dorothy back into the palace. She had just pushed past a cluster of maids when he caught up to her.

"Dorothy, stop," he said, wrapping a cool grey hand around her wrist.

Her face was contorted in a mixture of anger, fear, and embarrassment.

"Is this a joke?" She said it with all the spite she could muster.

For a moment he didn't know what to say.

"She's just an old woman."

"'_False gods take fear?'"_ Dorothy spat.

Tin Man shook his head. "A phrase she picked up. A repressed memory from a story she heard, called up by a sudden fit of dementia." He was trying to convince himself as much as her.

Dorothy shook her head and Tin Man felt another tug in his chest.

"It's nothing to worry about." The words poured from his mouth as though someone else had said them. He sounded calmer than he felt. "There is no fourth sister. There is nothing to fear. Dorothy…" He held out a hand to her and touched her shoulder. She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide. _She looks so young_. It passed and her face hardened as she stepped back from him.

"I want her arrested for fraud. She is never to set foot in the market again."

And Tin Man was left alone in the hall to watch Dorothy walk away.


	2. Chapter 2 Scripture

Chapter Two

Scripture or In Which The Characters Make a Discovery

Dorothy did not stop walking until she was in the hall outside her suite of rooms on the second floor of the palace. She had passed legions of servants and politicians who attempt to stop and question her; she had ignored them all. Now she stood alone in the hall, her breathing beginning to slow and her anger beginning to dissipate.

She took a step towards the wall, her small hands on the cool stone. It felt so nice beneath her skin. She leaned her head down, her forehead against the wall. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

All emotion left her body and Dorothy allowed herself to become completely numb. Thoughts drifted from her mind, locking themselves up in dark corners, waiting to come out another time. Tension eased from her muscles and she had to make the conscious effort to remain standing. The coolness of the stone radiated over her skin and she felt her body cool down. Once she had reached her plateau of calm, Dorothy stood back from the wall, letting her hands fall to her sides. They brushed against the smooth silk of her skirt. It felt warm against her hip.

Her hand grasped the golden doorknob of the door to her rooms and she turned it slowly, as though the amount of time it took had no bearing. The heavy wooden panel swung forward into the room with a low creak of metallic hinges.

Late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the open windows, each one framed by a pair of pale linen curtains. The parts of the room outside the rays of golden light were cast in dark shadows. The familiar scent of the room, heavy with cedar wood and rose hips, seemed stronger today, as though it was tainted with something else.

Dorothy shut the door behind her. Her eyes traveled across the room until they alighted upon the something different she was looking for.

He sat in shadow in a chair next to the window on the far left side of the room, just outside the rectangle of light that was pouring in.

"Evening, stranger," he said in a voice low and rough, something like a growl.

Dorothy moved across the room and stood in the shadow on the other side of the window. "What do you want?"

"A chance to apologize," he said. "I spoke harshly this morning. It was very rude."

"No argument. It's what I've come to expect from you."

"Then I'm selling myself short." He looked up at her, his eyes wide and innocent, reminding Dorothy of when they had met all those years ago in the woods, when she had felt safe with him despite his cowardice, before they had both been corrupted by the politics of Oz.

"I know," she replied.

She couldn't be sure when he had stood up; she didn't know how long it had taken him to cross that golden rectangle between them to reach her. She couldn't quite remember when his lips met hers or when his arms pulled her body against his. She was barely conscious of her back being pressed against the wall, of his hands leaving her shoulders the grip her hips, of his mouth leaving hers for her neck. She didn't quiet remember everything that happened next, but she knew, when her eyes slid shut and her mind finally acquiesced to sleep, that it had happened.

She woke when the moon was low in the sky, when the last stragglers succumbed to drunken stupor, when no dogs howled, and when the whole land was fast asleep. She got out of bed and went to the window. The breeze cooled her skin. The moon, huge and yellow, looked close enough to touch and Dorothy thought if she just reached out her hand she might take it from the sky and keep it for herself. Perhaps that way she could stop time, in this room, and it would stay forever this night. Her emerald silk robe was draped over a nearby chair and she pulled it on.

And then Dorothy felt someone looking at her. She turned to look over her shoulder.

Lion sat on the bed, propped up on one arm. His eyes were half-lidded, still heavy with sleep. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," replied Dorothy, turning back to the window. A scud of clouds drifted past the moon. It would rain soon.

She heard his feet pad across the floor and she felt him stand beside her. From the corner of her eye, she could see him looking out the window. They didn't speak again for the rest of the night. When Dorothy woke that morning to the sound of rain, he had already gone.

It was mid-morning, at least in his estimation, and Scarecrow was in his study, as usual, studying. A book on foreign politics lay open on a stand before him. He was just reading about a violent dispute between two long forgotten tribes when there was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" he called.

The door opened and Dorothy peered in. "Can you spare a minute?"

"Yes; come in."

Dorothy shut the door behind her. She wove through the tall stacks of books to one of the armchairs in front of the desk.

"Good Morning Dorothy," he said, peering at her over the spectacles perched on his brown nose. "What can I help you with?"

Dorothy cocked her head and examined Scarecrow. She remembered when she found him just a few years ago, a useless lump on the side of the road. He could barely stand upright. He had been old straw stuffed in musty tattered clothes that reeked of mothballs and bird shit. Now he was dressed in a wool suit and was swaggering around his study like some aristocratic scholar. Where would he be if she hadn't put out the fire that the witch had started? What if she had just let him smolder into ashes and dust to be picked up by the North wind and carried away over the rainbow?

"I need your advice."

"Oh, yes? What about?"

"Some old crone came up to me in the market the other day. She spouted some ridiculous proverb about the coming of the fourth sister and that I should be—how did she phrase it?—quaking in my boots. I told her that I didn't wear boots."

"Mm hmm," replied the Scarecrow, not bothering to look up from his book. She waited a few minutes before huffing impatiently.

"Well? Can you tell me anything about it?"

"I'm sorry Dorothy, I don't wear boots either. I hear they're quite bad for your posture." He flicked a page and continued reading. _If I had a match_, thought Dorothy.

"Not the boots. The sisters. The coming of the fourth sister."

"Oh, indeed?" He looked up at her as though he were surprised she was still there.

"Yes." She held her breath for a moment, trying to maintain composure. Then she leaned forward and placed one elbow on the desk, resting her chin on her hand.

"Scarecrow, is there something I could do that might—what's the phrase in Kansas? —Jog your memory?"

He abruptly dropped the page he had been holding between two fingers and looked up at her.

"That's not necessary."

"Then why don't you tell me what you know."

He stood still for a moment, tapping a long finger to his chin. Then he strode to one of the bookshelves that lined the wall and pulled down a dusty leather-bound tome. He brought it back to the desk and sat down.

"I believe I read something about this a few years ago—something Glinda said." He flipped through the pages, stopping every now and then to examine an illustration or read a passage.

"We know of three witches. The Wicked Witch of the East, whom you so tactfully killed upon your arrival in Oz. Then there was her birth sister, the Witch of the West, whom you also killed. And then of course the Good Witch of the South, who is now very comfortably retired."

"The witches are sisters?"

"Not necessarily. The witches of East and West are, but not the South. She was a cousin, I believe. But they are all of the same family and generation, so sisters in a colloquial sense. According to legend, there was a fourth sister."

"From the north?"

"It would appear that way, yes," replied Scarecrow, flipping through the book.

"So that makes two bad witches and two good?"

"It's possible. But all three other witches had risen to some sort of power, establishing their natures as good or bad. The fourth witch never rose to any notoriety; otherwise, we would have heard of her before."

Dorothy leaned back in her chair and sighed. "She hasn't risen to power…yet."

"True," said Scarecrow absently.

They were quiet for the next few minutes with only the sound of pages being turned as a soundtrack. Then,

"Aha."

"What is it?" asked Dorothy, leaning forward to see the book. Scarecrow's long finger was pointed to a faded caption on a yellowing page. She leaned closer to read it.

_And from the people will come forth four sisters, hallowed with the gifts of the ancients and blessed with talents we know not…_

Above it was an etching, faded grey with time, of four women gathered around a fire, their hands clasped to form a circle. Their heads were tilted back to the full moon above them and their mouths were open as though they were singing.

Dorothy leaned back. "So?"

"According to the prophecy, there should be another sister, with the same powers as the others."

"Is she a threat?" Dorothy's stomach clenched at the thought of another wicked witch rising to power in Oz, opposing the system left in place by the Wizard. She didn't pay too much attention to the politics; the people had appointed her to a position of leadership, but most of the technicalities had been taken care of by the new cranially endowed Scarecrow. Dorothy made public appearances, shook a few hands, kissed a few babies, and signed documents she hadn't read and didn't care to. She didn't much care about the oppression of the people, but she didn't like the idea of a threat to her power and privilege. She had a far more comfortable life in Oz than she would have had as a farm girl in Kansas.

"It's possible," replied Scarecrow. "But doubtful if she hasn't made a move yet. It has been five years since her sisters were killed."

Dorothy relaxed. And then a thought swam through her mind, first just a haze of pink taffeta and bubbles, and then a familiar face and then those five words Dorothy had blatantly ignored when she chose to stay in Oz: _There's no place like home_.

"What about Glinda?"

"Hmm?" said Scarecrow, flipping through the pages of the book.

"Glinda. If there is another sister, wouldn't Glinda know about her?"

"I suppose. Although her memory has become quite hazy as of late."

Dorothy crossed her arms. She was torn between finding the answer and ignoring the problem; surely someone else could take care of it. _Or not_. "It's worth a try."

Dorothy had sent a letter to Glinda, not so much requesting an audience as demanding one. It announced their arrival for tomorrow.

Dorothy hadn't seen the woman in nearly three years. After the Wizard left, Glinda had been the one to persuade the people that Dorothy should be the next ruler of Oz and then had stayed in the City as an advisor to Dorothy and Scarecrow. Gradually she had phased herself out and moved away from the City and into retirement.

Her house was south of the city, about a day's ride. Dorothy and Scarecrow would go, accompanied by Tin Man and a contingent of the guard. The rains had stopped that evening; they would depart at sunrise.

Dorothy didn't sleep. She paced her study, the smallest of the rooms in her suite, which she rarely used. The bookshelves were filled mostly with books Dorothy had never read; some she hadn't even heard of.

Her feet took her back and forth over the carpet and her hands were clenched in fists.

_It was just the ramblings of an old woman in the marketplace_. _It's nothing to be worried about_.

But Scarecrow had shown Dorothy that book with the picture of the four sisters. Surely the old woman hadn't made her prophecy up?

_It's just another one of Oz's superstitious myths. Any old crone would know it by heart_.

_Wouldn't they?_

Despite her better judgment, Dorothy was worried. The last thing she needed was another witch making a bid for power. From what she could remember of Scarecrow's reports and lectures, the market was already fragile with the year's corn harvest one of the weakest since the witch had burned three whole fields in Munchkinland.

_Or had it been pumpkins?_

Now winter was coming, and winter seemed like a good time for a revolt, when the people were colder, poorer, hungrier, and impatiently waiting for spring.

_The witch isn't necessarily bad_.

Dorothy hadn't had to worry about a witch since she had killed the Wicked Witch of the West (an accident, although she never admitted that part anymore). Glinda had been an ally and then phased herself out, obviously sick of life in politics in society. Glinda knew she would be held responsible if Dorothy made a mistake, so she turned her head from some of the new government's policies and praised instead of critiqued. But a new witch, one who had nothing to lose, could speak her mind more freely, could criticize Dorothy's every move, until all she had to do was push Dorothy aside and simply take her place.

_Then what would happen?_

Dorothy would become an outcast, forced to beg for food in the market, sleep under a pile of hay with the dogs and rats. Or she could try to find a way back to Kansas.

_And farm pigs._

Whose side would her friends take? Scarecrow would take whichever side would keep him in his cushioned position of power and privilege; his brain had taught him to ignore such basic instincts as loyalty. Lion, Dorothy thought, was too arrogant to choose a side. He would charm whomever he had to charm to keep from falling from grace. As for Tin Man, he had brainwashed himself too much for his heart to have much of an impact anymore, if he lived through the military struggle.

Dorothy stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the desk. These were certainly dilemmas she would not have faced in Kansas.

"But I'm not in Kansas anymore," she said aloud.

"No, you're not."

Lion was leaning against the fireplace on the other side of the room.

"I didn't hear you come in," said Dorothy.

"I know."

He came to the desk and sat down beside her.

"You're leaving tomorrow?" he asked.

She nodded.

"How long will you be there?"

"I don't know."


	3. Chapter 3 Revelations

Chapter Three

Revelation or In Which The Characters Get a Lesson

The traveling party departed at dawn, Dorothy and Scarecrow in a carriage and Tin Man and the guard on horseback. Glinda's estate was a three and a half hour ride from the City limits. It would take a half hour to reach the limits, if the streets were clear.

Dorothy wrapped her cloak tightly around herself as she climbed into the carriage. The rains had brought a bitter wind from the north, and it would only colder as they traveled. Scarecrow climbed in behind her, several books and a folder tucked under his arm. It would be a long ride.

The roads of Oz were just waking up; kitchen windows had been thrown open and the smells of cooking breakfast mingled with the sounds of rattling pots and pans. A few merchants were already hauling their wares to the market in barrows and carts. By the time the buildings began to thin and the trees grew thicker, Dorothy's eyes had grown heavy and her head began to droop, the dull rocking motion of the carriage pulling her towards sleep. She sat up straighter, shaking her head to clear it. She didn't want to fall asleep. She glanced across the carriage at Scarecrow. He had opened a book and was reading quite intently.

"What do you think she will tell us?"

Scarecrow looked up at Dorothy, his mind still on the book.

"I can't say. Isn't that the whole point in traveling to see Glinda, because of what I cannot tell you?"

Dorothy sighed and turned her sights back out the window. She was vaguely aware of Scarecrow watching her.

"It will be all right."

Dorothy turned back to him.

"What if it isn't?"

They looked at each other in silence for a very long time as their carriage traveled over the rough, unpaved streets of outer Oz.

Glinda's manor was far to the south of the city, secluded in the quiet marshes. Glinda had given up her sorcery trade not long after Dorothy took the throne, and rarely made trips to the Emerald City. Every now and then she would send correspondence, but Dorothy hadn't seen Glinda in years.

By the time the carriage reached the house, Dorothy's mind had wandered far and wide. She had nearly run out of things to think about. She stretched herself out as the carriage rolled to a stop. Scarecrow climbed out and extended a hand to help Dorothy. She blinked as the sun hit her eyes. For a moment she could see nothing but her own feet on the ground. As her eyes focused, she took in the massive house and, beneath a roof supported by enormous stone pillars, a small welcoming party. The party descended the steps and approached the carriage.

The party was made up of four people. A tall, grim looking man in a dark grey suit looked impassively at the new arrivals. Next to him stood an older man, silver wire glasses perched on his nose, his frail body wrapped in a green cardigan. Beside him was a stooped old woman, her face heavily lined, her hair wispy and white. She had twinkling blue eyes and smiled at Dorothy. Next to her stood a young woman in a white nurses uniform.

"Hello," said the old man, lifting a hand in salute to Scarecrow, Dorothy, and Tin Man, who had joined them. "I'm Henry Chufrey. Welcome to our home."

The old woman shuffled forward, her face creased with a smile. "Hello dearies," she said. "It's so good to see you again."

Dorothy's brow creased. She couldn't remember meeting this woman, but there was something familiar about her eyes.

Scarecrow swept into a rigid bow. "Glinda, the pleasure is all ours."

'_Glinda?_' thought Dorothy. She couldn't imagine how the woman had aged so quickly.

Glinda led the party inside and into a parlor. The walls were lined with crowded bookshelves. A massive window seat looked out over the lake.

"Glinda, we need your help with something," said Scarecrow, escorting the old woman to her chair. "We were hoping you could interpret a prophecy for us."

"Oh my, a prophecy." She smiled up a Scarecrow. "It's been a long time since I've heard a good one of those."

"Yes, well, we'd be very happy if you could help us figure out this one."

Glinda looked strangely like a small child folded up in her chair. She looked up at Scarecrow expectantly.

"Dorothy, why don't you tell her?" said Scarecrow.

Dorothy had followed them into the room but was hesitant to get much closer to Glinda. It didn't seem possible that this old woman was the same as the bright, beautiful sorceress Dorothy had met only a few years ago in Munchkinland. She began hesitantly.

"Well…a woman came to me in the marketplace. She told me she would read my fortune. She took my hand, and it seemed like she fell asleep for a moments."

"Perfectly normal, dear," said Glinda reassuringly.

Dorothy continued: "She woke up, I suppose it was, and said 'Beware the coming of the fourth sister, for she will make claim to the throne and depose all those who stand in her way. Her powers are beyond any others. False gods take fear'."

Glinda sat still for a few moments. The others shifted uncomfortably in their stances around the room. After some time, Dorothy spoke.

"Is there a fourth sister, a fourth…witch, someone who will try to rise to power?"

Glinda tilted her head to the side, examining Dorothy, a polite smile on her face.

"Oh no, dear, that's the wrong prophecy."

Dorothy's breath caught in her throat and she stared at Glinda.

"What?"

"Oh, yes, I'm afraid you've got the wrong one." Glinda smiled again, her eyebrows pulling towards her hairline, looking as though she didn't understand the problem.

"Well, is there another prophecy?" said Scarecrow.

"Oh! Yes, indeed." Glinda leaned forward in her chair, her wrinkled hands clutching the arms, her blue veins protruding like snakes beneath her papery skin. With what looked like a great amount of effort, she heaved herself up to her feet. Tin Man rushed forward to help her, but she slapped his hand away, clicking her tongue at him. Hunched over, she stumped to a bookshelf. She ran a hand over the dusty spines, her fingers tracing the titles. She mumbled to herself. After a few seconds her hand stopped moving and mumbles turned into soft humming. She stood still and her eyes glazed over. Scarecrow took a step towards her and cleared his throat.

"Glinda," he said softly.

"Oh, what was that?" She shook her head a little and refocused on the books. "Here it is."

She pulled down a huge book, bound in faded gold leather. Glinda shuffled over to a table and dropped the book with a thump.

Dorothy tossed a glance to Tin Man, who merely shrugged.

"Aha!" said Glinda. She had one long finger pointed to a passage in the book.

Dorothy, Tin Man and Scarecrow gathered around the book, peering down at the faded pages.

There was an old ink etching of a beautiful woman, tall and lithe, standing over a basket. The woman's head was turned away and the wind swept her hair to the side. Dorothy peered a little closer. Inside the basket, wrapped in blankets, its face screwed up to the wind, was a tiny baby.

"What is this?" she whispered.

"This is the Ozma," replied Glinda.

"But…it can't be," said Scarecrow. Dorothy glanced up to see his face blank.

Glinda merely nodded and pointed to the passage beneath the etching. They all leaned in to read:

_Lurline brought her babe down from the mountains and trusted her to the mortal people of the land. "I'm going away for awhile," said Lurline. And the people took the child and raised it as their own, knowing someday the fairy queen would be back to claim her daughter._

Tin Man took a step back and exhaled slowly. Scarecrow's face darkened and he turned away from Glinda and the book. Dorothy only felt a wave of confusion.

"Who is Lurline?" she asked.

"She is the fairy queen," replied Glinda, smiling down at the book.

"The fairy queen of what?" Dorothy was beginning to feel like a lost child. She didn't know any of the local legends and had never heard of an "Ozma" or a fairy queen.

"Lurline is…something like a god to the people of Oz," said Tin Man. "Many young people don't believe anymore, but some of the older ones—" he shot a look at Glinda, "—still believe in her. She supposedly enchanted Oz to protect it from enemies."

"But what about this daughter." Dorothy pointed at the book. "What happened to her?"

"No one knows. She disappeared into society, having no idea who she was. Her parents never told her, and Lurline never came back for her."

Dorothy felt a little overwhelmed. She lowered herself onto the couch.

"What does this have to do with the prophecy the old woman gave? About the four sisters?"

"An easy mistake," said Glinda, still looking at the book. "She meant the fourth daughter."

"No," said Scarecrow, regaining his voice. "That's not…it's not possible."

"Of course it is." Glinda's voice was soft and even, her face still poised in polite curiosity.

"No, she specifically said 'the four sisters,' she couldn't have been mistaken." Scarecrow's face looked stoic.

"No, she didn't," said Dorothy. "She said 'the fourth sister.' She didn't say anything about them all together."

Scarecrow glared at Dorothy, and then his face went blank. He paced to the window, his hands clasped behind his back, and looked out over the lake. Tin Man sighed and leaned back against the wall.

"Yes," said Glinda. "And the fourth sister has already come. In fact, you've met her."

"What?"

"Oh, yes, Locasta would never have given a prophecy about herself."


	4. Chapter 4 Deuteronomy

Chapter Four

Deuteronomy or In Which The Characters Make A New Acquaintance

_Now what?_ Dorothy stood on the wide porch of Glinda's manor, looking out at the sunset over the lake. She felt dazed; she was unsure of what was happening in Oz and what it meant to her position. The overwhelming feeling of inadequacy had settled over her.

_Now,_ she thought, _you've got a dilemma_.

Dorothy was a farm girl from Kansas. Although she had spent the last five years in Oz, she still didn't know all of the Ozian myths and stories. She barely knew the people of Oz; She didn't understand the customs, and she didn't even know all the laws. A small part of her, which she usually locked away in the back of her mind, along with how to shuck corn and feed chickens, thought that, maybe, she didn't have the right to rule Oz.

_No_, she thought, shaking her head. _They wanted me here_. And then, said a little voice, _but what about the Ozma?_

Dorothy wasn't so good at making decisions. Things usually happened to her, not because of her. But now she was going to have to do something about the imminent threat of the Ozma.

She could consult Scarecrow. His head was full of thoughts and his office was full of books. But since the Wizard had imparted a brain upon him. Scarecrow seemed to lack his carefree spirit that Dorothy had admired when they met on the Yellow Brick Road. Now he resigned himself to his study, where he would think of things he'd never thought before, and then he'd sit and think some more.

Or she could ask Lion. She could write him a letter and send a courier back to Emerald City with it. But with his new courage had come an arrogance that was a far cry from the endearing cub they had found in the woods. Dorothy felt a strong pull towards him for other things, but advice about her fate in Oz was not one of them.

And then there was Tin Man. He was still stoic, brave, and wise. But since the Wizard's exodus, Tin Man had become even more reclusive than Scarecrow. He was hesitant to trust, as though anyone in too close proximity would damage his hard-won heart. But he did have a heart, and Dorothy could not deny that.

She heard footsteps on the porch behind her and turned to see Tin Man. He came to stand beside her and looked out at the landscape. He felt no desire to overanalyze, like Scarecrow, or make jokes, like Lion. Sometimes silence was golden.

After awhile, Dorothy's thoughts began to calm and she could form questions.

"There's something I don't understand," she said.

Tin Man did not answer.

"The four sisters," she continued, "that's the Wicked Witch of the West, the Wicked Witch of the East, Glinda, and Locasta. All accounted for. So who are the four daughters?"

To Dorothy's surprised, Tin Man chuckled. "Of all people, you ask me." He turned to look at her. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to tell you; I barely know myself. I was frozen in the same position for eight years, remember."

Dorothy smiled. "And where would you be if I hadn't come along and oiled your joints? Give it a shot."

He took a moment to compose his thoughts. "From what I've gathered, although I can't say I've had the slightest interest in the subject before, Lurline never came back for her daughter. The child grew up and a daughter, who had a daughter of her own, who in turn had a daughter. Supposedly, Lurline's great-great granddaughter, in essence the 'fourth daughter', will rise to power and Lurline will return for her. _Ozma_ is the title used for the female descendents of Lurline, who many believe have the true right to the throne."

"'False gods take fear'," whispered Dorothy.

"What?"

"It's what Locasta said at the end of her prophecy. It makes sense now, if the fourth daughter is a descendent of Lurline."

Tin Man looked back out over the lake. "I remember," he muttered.

"Where do you think she is?"

"We think she is somewhere in the north," replied Tin Man, "possibly in one of the villages in the Glikkus. Many believe that Lurline lived in the mountains there, so her descendents must be in one of the nearby villages."

Dorothy nodded. The Glikkus wasn't that far from Emerald City; only a few days journey. "How long?" she asked.

"Dorothy—"

Tin Man faced Dorothy. She felt his hand rest on her shoulder, but could not turn to look at him. She knew what she would see.

"How long?" she asked again.

He sighed. "I don't know. But, it is possible that it will never happen."

"Are Locasta's prophecies usually reliable?"

A long pause and then, "yes."

They stood in companionable silence for several minutes before Dorothy remembered something else that had puzzled her.

"What happened to Glinda?"

"What do you mean?" replied Tin Man.

"She looks…different from the last time I saw her."

"You mean older?" A trace of a smile flickered across Tin Man's face. "It's the effects of all the magic, finally catching up. Glinda used very powerful magic for a long time and now that she's getting older she isn't able to hide the effects as well as she used to. And I imagine she's grown tired of it."

Dorothy wasn't sure why one would get tired of having unlimited magical abilities, but she was willing, for now, to take Tin Man's word for it.

The two of them stood side by side and watched the sun sink beneath the red horizon.

Glinda offered her hospitality for the night, but Dorothy and the others insisted on departing the next day. They thanked Glinda completely for her assistance in solving the riddle of Locasta's prophecy and the shelter for the evening and with a final wave to the wispy old woman, they left for Emerald City.

The ride home was a long and thankless as had been there, and Dorothy was once again resigned to riding with Scarecrow and his portable library. He had received several dispatches from the city the night before and was now reading them over and making notes in the margins. Dorothy contented herself by gazing out the window and eventually falling asleep.

The carriage wheels rattling over the cobblestones of the city streets woke her. The late afternoon sun was ochre on the streets as the people finished their day's business. The carriage brought them to the back door of the Emerald Palace. A footman helped Dorothy out of the carriage and she was halfway up the steps to the door when she heard someone call her.

"Dorothy."

She turned to see Scarecrow at the foot of the steps, his books tucked under one arm, looking up at her.

"Everything will be all right." He meant it to be a reassurance, but his own doubts surfaced and made it sound like a question. Dorothy gave him a small smile.

"I know."

Despite having slept nearly the entire trip back from Glinda's, Dorothy felt tremendously weary as she made her way to her suite of rooms. She had every intention of idling away the time in her room, but she needed something to distract her. She remembered a book she had been reading before she left, something completely pointless and not very well written, but distracting all the same. She had left it in her rarely used office.

The office was just off of her main sitting room, with access from the corridor outside. It was usually kept locked, being used only for important signings and ceremony, but as Dorothy approached it she could see that it was slightly ajar.

She hesitated for a moment. What if it was a trap? Then she laughed to herself: who would be waiting to attack her? Lion? She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The sun was low in the sky and the room was divided, half in shadow and half aglow with the fiery sun. Dorothy threw up a hand to shield her eyes as she made her way towards the desk. She felt over the surface, her hands tracing stacks of paper and portfolios filled with security briefings and staff memorandums until she found the book.

"Hello Dorothy."

The high-backed chair behind the desk was cast in the shadow between two windows. Dorothy's eyes began to focus in the harsh lighting and she made out a figure sitting in the chair.

A woman, perhaps Dorothy's age, with a pale face framed by long dark hair woven with flowers was seated in the official chair of the regent of Oz.

"What are you doing in here?" said Dorothy, at first taking her for a servant. Her irritation lapsed as she examined the flowers. "Who are you?"

"I'm surprised you don't know," said the woman. "I am Ozma Tippetarius."


	5. Chapter 5 Forgive Us Our Trespasses

Chapter Five

Forgive Us Our Trespasses in which The Characters Resume Their Bad Habits

Lion was prowling his rooms, trying not to gauge the silk-wallpapered walls. While a road trip to the swamps to visit a senile old woman wasn't the most appealing idea, he still resented his lack of an invitation. Technically, he was an advisor to the regent of Oz and as such, he had a right to certain information. His absence from the visit was a violation of his rights and duties. _Wasn't it?_

Though he would never admit it aloud, he resented the way Dorothy treated him. Just because he was no longer a coward didn't me he didn't…

_Didn't what? Have feelings? Was that what this was about? No_, he thought, shaking his head. She wasn't hurting his feelings. He wasn't that weak.

Then what was it? Why was it bothering him so much?

_She ought to be grateful_, he decided, that he would deign to be one of her advisors. He could have taken up the offered position as Governor of Quadling Country and where would she be then? Up Munchkin Creek without anyone to row for her.

_But that was a little proud, wasn't it_? It wasn't often Dorothy came to him for advice about anything. And he would have been miserable enforcing swamp taxes and christening new tugboats in Quadling Country. But here in Emerald City, he seemed to have no purpose at all.

He jumped when at a knock on the door, smashing a porcelain teapot that had been perched on an end table. _Knock it off, coward_, he thought.

"What?" he growled, picking up the shards of china.

Dorothy slipped into the room and shut the door quickly behind her, leaning against it for support. Lion looked up at her, surprised.

"Back so soon?"

Dorothy nodded, looking distracted. "I need you to do me a favor."

Lion put the pieces of the teapot on the table and stood up. "Oh, really?"

Dorothy nodded again. "Please get Tin Man and Scarecrow and meet me in the library."

Lion looked at her. "Why?"

"The fourth daughter is in my office."

"Who?"

"Please just get them."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They looked at each other, neither willing to look away.

"I'll get right on that," said Lion after a pause.

"Right." Dorothy straightened up and opened the door. She slipped back into the hallway without another word.

Well. It wasn't often Dorothy asked for a favor. As much as he would have liked to completely ignore her request and while away the hours conversing with the flowers, he thought his night could use a little drama. If for nothing else than just to change it up.

"What does she want?" asked Scarecrow. It was the third time he had asked the question in as many minutes.

"Something about 'a fourth daughter'," replied Lion. He was slouched into a chair at one of the libraries many tables, his feet propped up on it.

"Yes, but what about her?" said Scarecrow, exasperated.

"I've already told her everything I know," added Tin Man.

"If I recall correctly," said Lion, picking up a stray pen and twirling it in his fingers, "then this fourth daughter was in her office."

There was a loud thump as Scarecrow dropped the book he had been flipping through.

"What?" asked Lion. "A long-lost friend?"

"Something like that," mumbled Tin Man.

The door creaked open and Dorothy appeared, looking frazzled. "You're all here," she said. Her voice sounded strained. "Good. There's—ah—someone you should meet."

She held open the door to let this someone in.

"Oh my," said Scarecrow.

A young woman entered the library. She wore ragged traveling clothes and scuffed riding boots but there was an undeniably regal air about the way she held herself and moved. Her long hair was pushed back from her face and decorated with wildflowers.

"Hello," she said.

Dorothy moved into the room, twisting her fingers into a knot. "This is—um—Tippetarius. The Ozma."

Lion dropped the pen he had been twirling.

Dorothy nodded.

Scarecrow recovered first.

"Very nice to meet you," he said, striding across the room to take her hand and raise it to his lips. Lion smirked.

Tippetarius nodded.

"I am Scarecrow, High Chancellor to the Regent of Oz," he said, bowing slightly. There was an audible chuckle from Lion.

Scarecrow continued, ignoring him. "And what brings you to Emerald City?"

Tippetarius smiled serenely. "My birthright."

"Now what?"

Lion seemed to be the only one still in control of his speech. The others were in varying states of disarray around the library.

Tippetarius had been shown to one of the guest rooms. Tin Man had ordered a small contingent of guards to remain stationed outside the guest room, to keep any curious staff out, and to keep Tippetarius in. Scarecrow had already dispatched several letters of correspondence to historians throughout the city. Dorothy had already fainted once.

"Now we wait," said Scarecrow in a strained voice. It seemed to have occurred to him that should the Ozma reclaim the throne, his position as head advisor and essentially the leader of the country, would be filled by someone else.

"Wait for what?"

Lion really did not understand all the fuss. Surely this Tippetarius was a scam, just some gypsy looking for money and fame. Everyone knew Lurline was a myth. The fairy queen who blessed the Land of Oz? Not likely.

Right?

"For information." Scarecrow ran a hand over his gaunt face; with the purple circles under his eyes, he resembled the sack of hay they'd met by the side of the Yellow Brick Road. "I've sent letters to all the best historians in Oz, asking them for any information they might have about the Ozma and whether or not she has a legitimate claim to power."

"I don't understand," said Dorothy. She was stretched on a couch, fanning herself. "They were gone for such a long time. Doesn't that count as an abdimation?"

"Abdication," corrected Scarecrow.

Dorothy glared at him.

"It depends on what the law books say," he finished.

"Well what do you think?" asked Dorothy.

Scarecrow dropped onto the couch at her feet, his legs flopped in front of him at odd angles. "I don't know."

Tin Man stood by the window, his back to the room. He hadn't moved in a long time.

"And you, Tin Man?" said Dorothy. "You were there, too."

His faced turned down from the fading sunlight. He was quite for a moment before he turned towards the others. "Does it matter?"

"What?"

"Does it matter, if the Ozma comes back to power or not?"

Dorothy sat up. "It matters to me."

Tin Man said nothing.

No one said anything.

The silence was tense but it endured until nearly two hours later when there was a knock on the door.

A young guard entered and stood at attention.

"I have responses from the historians, sir," he said to both Scarecrow and Tin Man. Scarecrow snatched the letters and dismissed the guard before tearing them open. He read them to himself, his mouth forming the words as he went.

"Well what does it say?" said Lion.

"'In regards to the legend of the fairy queen Lurline, it can be said that if ever the was an example of such a story based on fact, it would surely be this. Understandably, many scholars are eager to discard the story of an immortal, magical woman but the evidence supporting her existence is overwhelming…" Scarecrow dropped the letter onto a table and tore open the next.

"I found myself quite surprised on receiving your correspondence. If there is any reason to suspect that prophecy has come true and the Ozma has indeed returned to the forefront of Oz, then this would be nothing short of the most important event in the history of…"

He ripped open another letter, scanning the page.

"Although many find it difficult to believe in the existence of a 'fairy queen,' there can be no doubt that Lurline is, in all reality, an actual entity and all subsequent offspring are in the line of succession for the throne of Oz…"

Scarecrow spread the letters out on the table, shuffling through them. He read the name on each, tossing them aside without opening them until he came to one, which he held up triumphantly. He cautiously opened it and scanned its contents.

"Here it is," he said. "This is the most important one."

He began to read:

"Dear Sir, I have reviewed your correspondence and examined my notes with the utmost thoroughness to which I am capable. I must assume you that I took your request very seriously. I have come to the following conclusions. One: there is a substantial amount of evidence in favor of the existence of Lurline. It is impossible to determine how old she is, but needless to say there have been numerous instances of persons or creatures in Oz living well past their expected ages. This evidence also sheds light on the notion that Lurline is perhaps not a 'fairy queen' as described in myth and legend, but rather a sorceress with immense power. As the most powerful sorceresses have the ability to hide and disguise the effects of aging upon their physical beings, it is very possible that this is he course of action Lurline has taken. Two: an anonymous child was brought to the home of a miner and his wife in the mountains of the Glikkus region by a woman who was supposed to be Lurline. I have read the personal accounts of this family and have every reason to believe they tell the whole truth. They then raised this child to adulthood, whereupon she was married and had a daughter. This same pattern continued so on, and there is in fact a descendant of this first child, now approximately aged twenty, living in the same Glikkus region. Three: Lurline, being the most powerful sorceress from the age of Oz in which magical persons were in control, never officially abdicated her power. Despite her long sabbatical, there is no limitation on her rule. According to the laws of the system, any of her offspring also have claim to rule, in the case of her deference."

Scarecrow took a deep breath and dropped into a nearby armchair. He placed one thin hand over his eyes.

"Well," said Lion, breaking the silence.

"What does that mean?" whispered Dorothy.

"It means," said Scarecrow, "that if Tippetarius wants it, the throne is hers."


	6. Chapter 6 Annunciation

Chapter Six

Annunciation or In Which The Characters Make Difficult Decisions

Dorothy's new favorite habit seemed to be pacing. She'd worn a track into the carpet in her sitting room. There was a similar one in Scarecrow's office, but he'd had a part in that. After hearing the letter from Scarecrow's trusted friend, an advocate in the Vinkus, she knew she could longer deny the truth. Tippetarius was the Ozma. The Ozma had the right to rule.

Dorothy was a false god.

_No._

She had never pretended to be a deity of any sort in Oz. When the Wizard left, the people had _wanted_ her to stay and rule Oz.

_Didn't they_?

Dorothy had, once, pondered the amount of control that Glinda had over the people, especially the Munchkins. It seemed that there had been a large amount of propaganda against The Wicked Witches of East and West, and although Dorothy had heard stories, she had never really had any solid evidence that the witches had committed crimes against the people. Perhaps there had been some sort of falling out amongst the 'four sisters' that had left the Witches of East and West to fall out of Glinda's good graces.

_Not the problem right now._

Dorothy shook her head. Of course she was getting sidetracked; she was good at it. She knew she needed to focus on the issue at hand, the problem of what to do about the Ozma…but she just couldn't. Her mind traveled everywhere else but the room two floors up, the fourth door on the left, in which Tippetarius was residing.

_You mean being held hostage_.

"No," said Dorothy allowed. The guards stationed outside Tippetarius' room were for her protection.

_For your protection_.

Dorothy sighed and stopped pacing. It was useless to argue with herself. It was useless to debate with Scarecrow, too. She'd had enough of that.

Dorothy went to window seat, which looked out over the edge of Emerald City. The lights of the city twinkled in the darkness like the fireflies Dorothy used to see in the woods on the edge of the meadow down the road from the farmhouse. She would sneak out of the house late at night and sit in the meadow, looking up at the stars and dreaming that one day she would get away from the monotony of the farm, from the dullness of her aunt and uncle's company, and into the Big World.

Dorothy pressed her forehead against the cool glass windowpane and tried to look up at the stars. There were too many clouds.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," said Dorothy. She stayed where she was, looking up at the sky. She listened to the footsteps approach her and felt the added weight settle on the window seat. Only when she felt a warm hand on her foot did she look over at the visitor.

"Star gazing?" he said.

"Yes. I wanted to see if they looked the same."

"The same as what?"

"As Kansas."

Tin Man smiled. "Do you miss it?"

"I didn't think so."

"You know what they say," replied Tin Man. "There's no place like home."

Dorothy dropped her head into her hands. "That is what they say."

"They're the magic words."

Dorothy looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. Think about it, all right?"

Dorothy nodded. Outside, raindrops began to drum against the windows and roofs.

"You know, you can't just hide in here forever," said Tin Man.

"I know." _But I wish I could_.

To Dorothy's relief, Tin Man didn't press the issue further. They sat on the window seat, the lights from the city casting shadows of the rain onto the floor in front of them.

"What would you do?" said Dorothy softly.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tin Man looked over at her. "Do you really want to know?" he said.

She nodded.

"I would let her have it."

"And by 'it' you mean 'hell' and I should drive her from the city?" Dorothy smiled weakly.

"No, I meant the throne." He looked down at his grey hands. "Dorothy, you have to do what you think in your heart is right. Don't think about the laws and the politics; just think about what you think you should do. My opinion should have no consequence to you."

"It's a difficult decision."

"I know you'll make the right choice."

Dorothy looked out the window, watching the raindrops chase each other down the glass. It reminded her of the games she used to play with the other children at school, running as fast as you could until you were caught and you had to catch someone else.

"When I first met you," said Tin Man, "the one thing you wanted most was to get back home. You didn't care about the fate of Munchkinland; in fact, you even felt bad for crushing the witch. But when the Wizard left, and you couldn't go with him, you didn't seem to mind staying here, where everyone wanted you. Did you ever plan on going back?"

Dorothy hadn't thought about it. _Yes you have_.

"I don't know." _Don't lie_. "Maybe."

Tin Man nodded.

"There's no easy answer, is there?" said Dorothy.

"No," replied Tin Man. "There never is."

At dawn, the sky was pale purple and grey. A faint mist spread out among the rooftops of Emerald City. Dorothy stood at the window of her bedroom, her breath fogging the pane. Today was the day she would announce her decision.

She couldn't say, to herself, what it was for sure. She wouldn't know until she had gone down to the library where Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion, and Tippetarius would be waiting for her and she opened her mouths to speak. But she knew the words would come.

She went to her wardrobe and chose her favorite green silk dress. It had been given to her for her birthday two years ago, and it was one of the most important things she owned. She laughed at that thought as she pulled the dress over her head.

Scarecrow was the first to the library. He had the curtains drawn back and the lamps lit and the tea laid out. And then he had nothing better to do but fuss over the position of the books upon the shelves.

At quarter past nine Lion strolled into the room. He yawned enormously and propped his feet up on a table.

"'Morning, Hay Stack," he said amicably.

"Flea Bag," said Scarecrow, inclining his head.

"Where's the princess and the Tin Can?"

"I can only imagine."

Ten minutes later Tin Man arrived. He ignored Lion's jibes and occupied himself by reading the titles of the books without really comprehending them.

Tippetarius arrived a short while later.

The three others made various displays of their ill ease, including but not limited to fidgeting, throat-clearing, nail-biting, and shuffling.

"I'm sorry," said Tippetarius, "if this is strange for you."

"No."

"Not at all."

"Don't be absurd."

Tippetarius smiled. "My grandmother will be coming back shortly."

"Lurline?" said Scarecrow.

"Yes. She's coming back now. That's why I'm here."

"But how do you know?" Scarecrow blushed. "I mean, are you in correspondence with her?"

"Something like that," she replied.

"But what does—" He was cut off as the door opened.

Dorothy entered the room. She strode to a reading podium and used it for balance.

"I've made my decision," she said. Her voice was steady but her eyes betrayed her. The others waited with silent apprehension.

"I will be abdicating the throne of Oz, the title of regent, and all privileges associated with it. I will then leave the Emerald City and travel Oz."

Tippetarius got to her feet and went to Dorothy. They faced each other for a tense moment, nearly the same height, toe-to-toe. Then Tippetarius enveloped Dorothy in an embraced. She said something into her ear that the others could not hear. "Thank you."

Dorothy withdrew and made a visible attempt to collect herself. She brushed the front of her dress, smoothed her hair, and brushed at her cheeks.

"Well," said Scarecrow. But what he thought he seemed unable to put into words. "Well."

Lion made to stand up, but thought better of it and slouched back in his chair.

"My grandmother will be arriving in a few days. She will be very pleased to hear that the throne of Oz has been returned to her family."

Dorothy nodded. Tin Man stepped forward quickly to catch her as her legs gave out.


	7. Chapter 7 Exodus

Chapter Seven

Exodus or In Which The Characters Realize All Things Must Come To An End

Dorothy was locked in her rooms, dividing everything she had accumulated over the past five years into two piles: to take with her, and to leave behind. Surprisingly, at least in her mind, the second pile was considerably larger. A map of Oz was pinned to the wall nearby.

She carefully folded the green silk dress and set it at the bottom of the trunk she would take with her.

"Leaving so soon?"

Lion had managed to sneak in and was perched on the table in the center of the room.

"I shouldn't stay."

In the city, word had spread like wildfire that Lurline was to return and that the Ozma would be reinstated as head of Oz. The streets had been decorated to celebrate Lurlinemas and the people were rowdy with excitement.

"Where will you go?"

"Anywhere?" said Dorothy. "Maybe the farmhouse is still at the beginning of the Road in Munchkinland. Just like home."

Lion didn't smile.

"What will you do?" she asked him.

"I could always take up the offered post in the Quadling Country. I think there was some sort of 'king' in the title."

"No matter how much courage you lacked, you always had your pride."

"'Pride, envy, avarice' and all that," he replied.

"I have to get something out of the library," said Dorothy, moving towards the door. "One last walk?"

Now Lion smiled.

The corridors were empty; the servants had been given the day off for the celebrations. Lion and Dorothy walked side by side in silence. They were halfway to the library when a figure strode around the corner at the opposite end of the hall. Spotting them, she walked towards them. It was Tippetarius.

"I've been looking for you," she said in a melodious voice. She had discarded her traveling clothes in favor for more festive ones and seemed to be glowing.

"I was just getting one more thing from the library," said Dorothy, "then I'll be leaving."

"You can't leave yet," said Tippetarius. "You must come with me." She grabbed Dorothy's hand and began to pull her down the hall.

"But where are you taking me?" said Dorothy. She looked over her shoulder at Lion, who merely shrugged.

"Come along," replied Tippetarius, still pulling on her arm. "There's something you have to see before you leave."

Dorothy relented and let Tippetarius guide her. They wove through the maze of halls and staircases until they stood on the front steps of the Emerald Palace. Swarms of people crowded the plaza, and Dorothy could hear many more throughout the city.

"Come with me," said Tippetarius. She hurried down the steps, Dorothy in tow. They pushed through the crowds; some ignored them and others recognized them and gaped as they passed. There was little space in the streets; it seemed that every citizen of Oz was here today.

"Just a little further," said Tippetarius. They had reached the main gates to Emerald City, which stood open to allow everyone in. Tippetarius hurried through, nudging through another cluster of people.

"Here, here it is," cried Tippetarius.

A group was gathered around a small platform. A few feet from it was the spiraled beginning of the Yellow Brick Road. Tippetarius pulled Dorothy up onto the platform.

"This is for you," she said, sweeping a hand over the crowd. Hundreds of faces looked back at her; some cheered.

"What is this?" said Dorothy.

"Your going away party."

Dorothy could see now that some people had signs saying things like "We'll Miss You" and "Five Good Years" and some with pictures of a farmhouse falling on a witch.

"But, I don't understand," said Dorothy. "I didn't think anyone cared if I left."

"Of course they do," said Tippetarius. "You've been their regent for five years, and you liberated them from the witches. Now you've brought about the return of the Ozmas."

"But I didn't…"

"So maybe I brought myself to Emerald City," said Tippetarius. "But you surrendered your power without my even asking."

Dorothy stared at Tippetarius. "You…didn't…"

"I would have," said Tippetarius, grinning. "But it helps that I didn't have to."

Dorothy looked out over the crowd again. Many waved at her.

"Now all these people have gathered here to say good-bye, and send you on your way home," said Tippetarius.

"But I…did you say home? I don't have a home; I don't even know where I'm going."

Tippetarius smiled serenely. "Of course you have a home. You always have."

"No," said Dorothy. "No, I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"I can't go back. Glinda and the Wizard are gone, and there's no one else to help me."

"Dorothy." Tin Man appeared out of the crowd and climbed up onto the platform.

"Tin Man. You were there, you know the Wizard was my one way back."

"No it wasn't," said Tin Man. "The choice has always been yours. You've always had the ability to go back."

And Scarecrow stepped out of the crowd, a smile on his face. In his hands he held a black velvet bag, something Dorothy hadn't seen in years but something so familiar nonetheless.

"And you were there, too, you were with me. But I can't," said Dorothy, suddenly feeling weak. "I can't now, it's too late…"

"It's never too late Dorothy."

A cluster of guards parted and Lion stepped onto the platform, a sad smile on his face. She smiled back at him; she couldn't speak the words of apology that she owed him, but she knew he would understand. Her difficulty was also his.

Scarecrow reached into the bag, pulling back the velvet. There they were: the Silver Slippers. She hadn't looked at them in so long. They looked so small and fragile in Scarecrow's hands, glinting in the sunlight. They could never possibly fit her still. She took one tentatively in her hands and held it up.

"Will they fit?" she whispered.

Tippetarius nodded.

Scarecrow smiled encouragingly. "Now, be gone, before somebody drops a house on you." He nodded to the point, a little ways away, where the Yellow Brick Road came to an end in a small spiral. The crowd parted to let her through.

She slipped the shoes onto her feet. A perfect fit. She stood there, at the end of the Yellow Brick Road, the end of her journey five years ago, the start of her life in Oz. She could not bear to look over her shoulder at her friends, at the people she had known and who had known her as she said those five familiar words in her head and took a step forward. Then another. With a deep breath, she took the third step. _There's no place like home_.

The Road vanished. Beneath her feet now was a dirt path. Green pastures lay on either side. The sky was clear and fresh, like it was just after the rain, its scents mixed with the late summer corn, the warms winds from the plains, and the farms of Kansas. Dorothy kept walking.

And then, up ahead in the middle of the road, there he was. One minute he was invisible and the next he came into Dorothy's sight. He was walking towards her, and he was as real as the sun in the sky. He was afraid, or cold-hearted, or ignorant. He was brave and strong and kind and wise and he was everything and he had been there all along, waiting for her.

Dorothy was home.


End file.
